This House of Sand
by BlightPurged
Summary: AU; presumably half a year after the conclusion of the Fourth Shinobi War. The shinobi go back to their respective villages, the Great Nations closer than they once were. In the aftermath of war, however, the sand siblings struggle to assemble the pieces of a peaceful life that always eluded them.


This House of Sand

Since the war is still on-going in canon, this story is presumably AU as it takes places after the war is over.

* * *

Kankuro would be a much better father than his own had been.

"_Close hands, open hands, clap hands, close hands."_

He acted out the lullaby as he sang slowly, doing as the song instructed. Still, he felt foolish singing such a childish song. He'd never liked the sound of his voice as he sang.

His daughter, however, watched him, entranced with his motions and his song. She loved the music, even if she was too young to enunciate the lyrics. Under her breath she murmured, curling and uncurling her tiny fingers as she attempted to mimic her father's motions.

"_Clow han, 'pen han, clan han, clow han,"_ She babbled softly, her big brown eyes wide in awe.

"_Open hands again, clap hands, put those hands up."_

Mindful of the bandages around his right arm, Kankuro carefully rose his hands into the air, his daughter following suit. Her mouth twitched before she bubbled over with a contagious giggle that made a grin break across her dad's face.

Temari had once confided in him that their mother had a beautiful singing voice. The young kunoichi recalled Karura singing this very song to her as a child. She said she had sung it to Kankuro as an infant, too, despite his undeveloped motor skills at the time.

He wouldn't dare admit it, but it broke his heart that he couldn't remember that.

He wasn't quite sure if it was to compensate for that detail, yet Kankuro had still vowed to sing to his child until she was embarrassed to have him do so.

At least she'd always remember that he'd done it. That her daddy sang her lullabies every night he himself hated.

"_Close hands, open hands, clap hands, close hands."_

He ended the melody, taking his daughter's hands and enclosing them in his own. Konoka peeked up at him through her bangs, withdrawing her hands from his. Kankuro felt a pang of rejection jolt through him, before she grasped his thumbs firmly in her own tiny fists, squeezing them as she beamed fondly at him, effectively liquefying her father's heart. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to the top of the toddler's head.

'_I love you so much, kid. Don't you ever doubt that.'_

Kankuro drew away from his child, climbing off the bed. Reaching down, he pulled back the blanket.

"Alright, kiddo. In you go."

Bracing for the worst, Kankuro locked eyes with his child. All was silent as his eyes narrowed, waiting for the howl of despair he was sure was to come as she sat, her legs pulled beneath her weight, returning his wary stare with her own young breed of suspicion.

Despite the gratuitous affection he poured onto her on a daily basis, lately the girl had been rebellious about the bedtime that had been set in stone since her birth. She'd begun to kick and scream when anyone told her that it was time to go to bed, resisting with all the might in her small body as Kankuro and Sari attempted to shove her into her covers and effectively keep her there. After several nights of the commotion, even Gaara's patience was beginning to wear thin with his niece's obnoxious wailing. Just last night, he had rapped on the closed door, asking curtly if Kankuro wanted his help.

"N-no, we're good, _jan_!" He had yelled over his child's cries.

God knew Gaara wasn't good with children. Even when Konoka had been an infant, Gaara had consistently held the child at an arm's length away, unsure of what else to do with her. Once, she had spit up, the milk dribbling down her chin and onto her bib. The young Kazekage had cringed in disgust, eyeing the liquid almost as if suspicious of it, before passing the baby on to his brother. It was months before Gaara had the courage to hold the child again.

Slowly, Konoka dipped her toes beneath her blanket. She wiggled them experimentally, knocking her knees together as she did. She maintained the staring match between them as the child shuffled her feet for only a second, as if testing the boundaries of her father's patience.

The puppeteer remained stock still, afraid any sudden movements might trigger his girl into falling into hysterics again.

With painstaking sluggishness, his great victory was achieved as the toddler eased her body under the covers.

"Thank you. Daddy loves it when baby's a good girl."

Konoka's face split into a wide grin, once again infecting her father with the very same gesture. She squirmed, nestling into the mattress.

Kankuro tucked his child in, kissing the top of her head once again before straightening his back, turning towards the door. He cringed when he heard her squeal, terrified that she'd decided to make a belated performance tonight after all. The puppeteer spun on his heel with his left hand at the ready to discipline, only to see her sprawled on her stomach, small arms outstretched as she wriggled her fingers desperately in the direction of the tattered stuffed bear perched atop the dresser by her bed. Its lonely, beady-eyed stare must've called out to something within her, as usually, she slept fine without it. With an obliging smile, Kankuro lowered his hand, retrieving the animal for her without complaint.

"Night, kiddo."

"Nigh' keeo," Konoka echoed, clutching her stuffed bear to her chest beneath the blanket.

Flipping off the light, he closed the door behind him as he exited the bedroom. He padded across the floor, slowing down as he passed his own room.

Once, he had shared that bed with his wife. Now, he lay alone, and he considered himself lucky to get even a fretful night's sleep without the accompaniment of nightmares. He had the sinking feeling they'd never really cease.

The town was quiet, the villagers gradually trickling back into their homes for the night. Normally, he'd be one of them, readying to tuck himself away into his room and tinkering with his puppets. Instead, he was going to talk to Gaara per the younger man's request.

His adolescent brother wasn't much of a talker. But he had this uncanny awareness of when people were in pain, whether it be physically or emotionally.

Currently, Kankuro suffered from both.

The Kazekage had insisted that Kankuro come and talk to him frequently. At first, Kankuro waved his brother off with, "I don't want to talk about it." That worked for a couple months, until Gaara began to pound on his bedroom door. They'd sit in awkward silence; Kankuro utilizing his workbench as a table while he sketched with his good hand, and Gaara leaning against the far wall by the window. Finally, Kankuro sighed and caved.

"You're making me nervous, _jan_. I hate it when you come in here and just _stare_ at shit."

"I'm waiting," Gaara had explained to him calmly, unfazed by the puppeteer's harsh tone.

"For?"

Kankuro slammed his pencil on the workbench, snapping his body around to face his brother. Gaara inclined his head, finally allowing his gaze to come to rest on his elder brother.

"You to talk to me."

Kankuro released a shuddered breath, unaware he'd been holding it. When he didn't reply, his brother continued.

"You said you needed space. I gave it to you."

"I said that I didn't want to talk about it."

"Did you plan to suffer alone? What do you hope to gain by that?"

Kankuro wasn't sure he had answer for that.

Gaara was always the fearless leader, eager to fight and defend. In Kankuro's eyes, the once troubled, demented young man no longer experienced such problems from his early youth. In such a short time, Gaara had become a national hero and idol, a popular war veteran who led the Fourth Great War to victory alongside the other kage and Naruto, even an unrequited romantic interest to many. Over the years, the adolescent Kazekage's life had even become _enviable_, especially to Kankuro. He couldn't be expected to understand what it was like to fall in love and begin a family, only to have a threat of it all to be stripped away dangled in front of his eyes.

It wasn't so much that Kankuro _wanted_ to suffer by himself. He couldn't say it had ever been a plan of his either. But his siblings just didn't know what it was like. There was no "_relating_" to them.

It was with this mentality that Kankuro knocked on the door of his brother's office, determined to remain composed and tight-lipped through the interrogation to come.

'_Gaara doesn't understand. He could never know what it's like to love a wife, let alone to watch her die.'_

"Come in."

Silent, Kankuro obeyed. His younger brother looked well, as usual. Despite the long hours he constantly put in, he rarely ever showed signs of fatigue or weariness, unlike his elder counterpart. Even in his prime Kankuro's taijutsu had never been anything to brag about, but while he'd been forced to sit out on the bench since the war ended his skill had gotten even worse.

Gaara on the other hand, despite his failure against Madara, had only gotten stronger.

"I'm glad you came today," Gaara revealed quietly, never lifting his eyes from the document in which he was writing. "I have something for you. I've decided that it's time I start gradually reintegrating you back into your missions."

Kankuro's jaw slackened, his shock written clearly across his face as his heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

"I'm not authorized to accept missions," Kankuro responded breathlessly. "Not with my arm."

"You're still a shinobi of the Sand. There are things you are capable of doing, and I think you are ready now."

Gaara's writing paused momentarily as he held out the small beige scroll, the papers before his desk continuing to hold fast to his immediate attention. Kankuro tried not to trip over himself to retrieve it in his haste. The scroll described a young woman, _inside_ the village no less, who wanted to know what kind of man Sasori of the Red Sand had been. A D-rank mission. Gaara was trying to send him to tell bedtime stories to a _teenager_. After all these months, this was all the faith Gaara had in him.

What a _joke_.

As his knuckles paled, his grasp tightening around the parchment, Kankuro resisted the urge to tear the scroll in half and toss it back at his brother. He would, however, waste no time in voicing his great displeasure to his younger brother.

"You've got to be kidding me, _jan_."

"Did you expect me to send you as back up for the exchange between our shinobi and Cloud's?"

… Certainly wouldn't have hurt _Kankuro's_ feelings.

"… Maybe not field work, yet, but…"

A growl rose in the back of Kankuro's throat, and he allowed the scroll to slip from his fingers and fall to his feet. The parchment unraveled, rolling back towards the Kazekage's desk as Kankuro scowled at the mission details in contempt.

"… but I've never taken a D-rank in my life. I'm not about to start now."

"Don't be unreasonable. I told you I was going to ease you back into—"

Kankuro's patience snapped, forsaking his earlier oath of remaining composed. He kicked the scroll, sending it clattering against the far wall.

"Dad _never_ sent me on a D rank, not even after I became Genin! My first mission was a _C-rank_, back when I knew next to _shit_ about being a shinobi compared to what I know now! If you're finally going to give me a mission after all this time, give me a C-rank, or don't give me anything at all!"

"You aren't ready, Kankuro."

The puppeteer's jaw clicked in irritation, his shoulders squaring as he tried to muster up what dignity he still had. As if to mock his gesture, a twinge a pain shot down his arm and he bit down on his tongue to keep from swearing aloud. He knew he wasn't ready to take on serious missions again. But he didn't like Gaara pointing it out. Somehow, having the truth of his disability voiced by someone _else_ dealt his pride an incredible blow.

"… Then don't insult me with that storytelling bullshit. Give it to some Genin."

Gaara ignored the remark, his pen scrawling once more. He paused again, before musing aloud,

"You're offended."

"No shit."

"I want to help."

"So do I," Kankuro sighed, running his hand through his hair as he gazed listlessly out the window.

He longed to leave the village on assignment, like the days before the war. Kankuro had never been once to sit and contemplate the purpose of one's existence, perhaps because he'd always had his meaning set before him and had been happy with the way the cards had fallen for him. His father had been an impossible man to please, but he recalled one instance in his childhood, nearly a year after he'd been made Genin in which he'd seen him offer the ghost of a smile to him in congratulations for the success of a job well done. Kankuro had strived to make the man proud of the son he had, trying less so when Gaara had threatened out of jealousy to kill him if he didn't, "stop being so annoying". After being named Kazekage, Gaara had entrusted Kankuro with an array of things, which increased his feeling of self-importance, and he adopted the tasks eagerly. When the siblings returned home after the war, the three had separated, locking themselves away for days on end for various reasons; Gaara because he had years' worth of neglected administrative tasks to attend to and Temari, who for whatever reason uncharacteristically demure, became something of a recluse as well, emerging from her room only for the most basic of bodily needs and when Gaara himself came to drag her out of her self-induced confinement. Kankuro had been hospitalized and treated for a number of weeks, before he was released to his own devices, forbidden by Gaara to accept missions or even train under strenuous circumstances. During the months following the war, with the restrictions placed on his life due to his injury on top of his wife's ailing health, Kankuro had never felt so utterly useless in his life.

"But as things are now, I'm nothing but a liability."

Gaara laid down his pen, shifting his stare onto his elder brother.

"Kankuro, that's not true."

The puppeteer snorted, shrugging his one good shoulder and rolling his eyes at the other, as if to emphasize his point.

"What's a puppeteer without the use of his arm? You can't even send me on a C-rank mission. The way I am now, I'm dead weight. To you and to this village."

"You're recovering," Gaara corrected his brother, straightening his back as he leaned forward in his chair. He folded his hands in front of his chin. "In any case, I recall you often complained how you never had the time to spend with your wife and daughter because you were gone for months on end. Now would be a good time for such bonding."

With his good arm, Kankuro made a slashing motion the air as his throat hummed with a feral growl, casting the last shreds of his patience to the wind.

"I didn't want it at the expense of my _arms_!"

"Perhaps this is something you will be thankful for in the long run."

"Don't talk to me with your fortune-telling bullshit, Gaara!"

Kankuro turned on heel, storming towards the exit.

He'd been trying, and failing, to cope with his life for months. The war had ended, but after everything that had happened, Gaara went back to same tasks he had before the war. Even Temari's life eventually found stability after she and her Leaf beau called it quits when the divisions dissolved. Only Kankuro it seemed, with his shattered arm and his ailing wife, found difficulty in readopting the pre-War norm.

He'd married Sari whilst the war had been going on, and because of that the ceremony had been brief, and two days later, Kankuro found himself back on the front lines. Though he came home a handful of times since the wedding, she'd given birth to his daughter while he'd been on the battlefield. In the preceding months after Konoka's birth Sari had fallen ill, and nearly two years later the woman's condition had only gotten worse. With every village's best medics already dedicated to the war, there was no one to treat his suffering wife, while she contended with her own failing health as well as raising a newborn baby alone. Despite Kankuro's efforts in recruiting the best medics he knew, primarily the talents of Sakura and Tsunade, one by one he had been refused, the shinobi claiming that they had to go back to their own villages, not only to deal with the people there but to give the overworked medics rest. Tsunade had promised to send Sakura once the kunoichi had dealt with her own injury, but as the months passed, Kankuro was certain that by the time the Leaf finally got around to sending their aid, it would be too little too late.

In a flurry of reckless anger, he rose his good arm, slamming it against the frame of the door on his way out.

"Kankuro."

Despite his frustration, the puppeteer couldn't bring himself to simply ignore the call of his younger brother. At the sound of his voice, Kankuro paused in the doorway with his back to the kage, silently giving Gaara his reprieve to speak.

"There are people who love you. Those same people want to be there for you during your pain, but you have to let them. You once played a similar role for me. Now, I'd like to think that it's my turn, if you'd forsake your pride long enough."

Kankuro closed his eyes, granting himself a moment to allow the pleasure that Gaara's words brought him to sink in.

Why had he spent so long pushing him away? Without the company of his wife, Gaara was the person in his life that made him happiest, aside from his child.

"It's not just about me," Kankuro murmured, reigning in his temper as he loosened his tongue for the first time since he'd returned from the war.

'_None of this is Gaara's fault. He just wants to help the best he knows how.'_

"Every time I think about the pain I'm in, I remember how much Sari had to have suffered. While I was gone, she was sick, and she was raising our kid by herself, and there was nothing I could do for her. I felt terrible, and guilty that if she hadn't gotten pregnant in the first place, none of this would have happened. Maybe she never would have gotten sick at all, if her immune system had been at its best. But I can't bring myself to regret Konoka. Never."

"That's understandable. She's your wife. You love her."

Kankuro forced back the choking sound in his throat, bringing the heels of his palms to his eyes. He twisted them, releasing a shuddered breath.

"I love her so much. I really do. I… now that I have her, I don't want to lose her. But I'm so scared that I'm gonna. When I came home for good I remember thinking of how she'd looked like she'd been taking steps towards the grave, dying a little more each day. Now, all she does is sleep. She doesn't even eat much, 'cause she can't hold it down. And none of our medics know what's wrong! I can't even sleep in the same bed with her anymore, 'cause I tend to toss in my sleep, and it wakes her up."

"Where have you been sleeping?"

"Down in my workshop, where I have the puppets. I got a futon down there now."

Kankuro heard Gaara's chair scuff against the floor, and he stiffened as he heard his approaching footsteps. Resting his right hand on his brother's left shoulder, Gaara offered a small, unsealed scroll to his elder brother with his free hand.

"Word from the Leaf came today. A four man squad containing Sakura leaves first thing tomorrow morning."

His heart, flush with hope, leapt into his throat and Kankuro turned from his brother, nestling his eyes into the crook of his arm to hide the tears that pricked at his eyes. After a moment to compose himself, Kankuro took a deep breath and he snatched the scroll from his brother's hands, tearing it open in haste as he poured over its details greedily.

"T-that's good news. 'Bout damn time, lazy bastards," He croaked.

"Kankuro, Sakura and Tsunade were both wounded," Gaara chided firmly, "They needed time to tend to their own wounds, and their villages, before they could start sending out shinobi so quickly. They promised us Sakura the moment she could come."

The puppeteer nodded at the sobering notion, having always understood the reasoning for the matter just fine. Had it been Temari or Gaara who had been summoned the same day the war ended, Kankuro would have been up in arms to defend their rest after the years-long war. Well aware he had been acting incredibly selfish, he cared very little for propriety when the life of his spouse was hanging in the balance.

Three days more. Then Sakura could look at Sari and heal her. With any hope, Sari would be on the path to recovery in three days time.

Kankuro turned to face his brother, who had been watching him carefully as he read the letter. Suddenly burdened with guilt, the elder brother sighed and squeezed his eyes shut in remorse.

"I've been an asshole, really, I—"

The corners of Gaara's mouth quirked upwards, squeezing Kankuro's shoulder comfortingly. A thought drifted idly through Kankuro's mind, and he pursed his lips as he folded his arms across his chest.

"So, why didn't you tell me about the Leaf sending a squad for Sari when I first came here tonight?"

"I've been trying to get you to talk to me for months. I wasn't about to miss that opportunity simply because I knew Sakura was coming."

Kankuro narrowed his eyes in suspicion, taking a step back from Gaara and out from beneath the warmth of the younger's hand.

"… How long have you had that letter?"

"…"

"Gaara."

"A couple days."

"A couple of—!"

"Relax. You would have found out eventually."

"You want me to relax while you're playing euchre with my head?! You _knew_ I've been stressing myself into knots over—!"

"I told Sari. But not you."

Kankuro took deep breaths, his rage slowly whittling away. He could understand why Gaara had been so underhanded with him, while the puppeteer himself had been acting like little more than a sulking child.

"Sneaky bastard."

But he couldn't help but have the last word. Kankuro watched as Gaara's lips curved in an expression he only knew to describe as '_coy'_, before the gesture vanished entirely. Suddenly all business, Gaara shooed the brunette from the room, insisting that Kankuro was now wasting both his Kazekage's time, and his own, unless Kankuro would rather help with the paperwork. Reassuring Gaara sternly that he in fact did _not_ want to tend to the two foot stack atop the younger's desk, he allowed himself to be dismissed.

The moment the door clicked shut, Kankuro broke into a jog through the very same hallways in which the council elders would reprimand him for during the day.

Kankuro passed the entrance to his workshop. Twisting the handle to his bedroom, he entered cautiously, silently, as not to wake his wife. Not yet.

He shed his pants, locating a pair of shorts in his dresser. He stood still a moment, taking in the sight of his slumbering wife as the moon filtered in through the window, casting a beam of light across her hair and shoulders. She lay with her back to the window, facing the wall opposing her husband. Kankuro moved to the edge of the bed, leaning over her as he pressed a hand to the mattress, shifting his weight to his palm. In a quick, fluid motion, he pounced over her sleeping form, mindful to turn in order to prevent landing on his broken arm. As he expected she would, Sari stirred, her eyes fluttering as they settled on his. Almost instantly, a confused expression flitted across her features. Kankuro reached up with a smile, brushing his fingers across her lips and effectively silencing the question poised there. She murmured, his name a litany upon her lips as she pressed them into his hand. His heart soared at her affection, gathering the woman in his arms and pulling her flush against his chest.

She turned her face into his torso, whispering his name again faintly into his shirt. He tried to ignore the smear of blood tingeing the white pillow as his heart wrenched.

"Three days, babe. You hang in there. For Konoka. For me."

"I will."

Kankuro just hoped that it would be enough.


End file.
